


The Cut That Always Bleeds

by mrc_1205



Series: Heather AU [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda, Hamilton - Miranda (Broadway Cast) Actor RPF
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Angst, Based on a Conan Gray Song, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Fluff, Gay John Laurens, Henry Laurens Being an Asshole, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, John Needs A Hug, John is a Mess, Lams - Freeform, M/M, Singer John Laurens, Songfic, Sort Of, cut that always bleeds - conan gray, not really - Freeform, therapist alexander hamilton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:15:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27139954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrc_1205/pseuds/mrc_1205
Summary: John is working on his song 'The Cut That Always Bleeds' in the studio when he gets a mysterious call from his brother telling him to come to South Carolina ASAP.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: Heather AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980965
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	The Cut That Always Bleeds

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to the Heather AU but I have recently changed something within the fic - Alex is a therapist rather than a lawyer.
> 
> Thank you to my friend Charlie for helping me with this!! Luv ya <3
> 
> Heres the song: I would highly suggest you listen to it as well as the whole album Conan Gray is such an amazing singer and I love his songs (hence the several songfics): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OuTLKgPyaF0
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this!

[ ] = changes made to lyrics to fit in context.

John Laurens sits at the piano in a small soundproof room in Greene’s studio and begins singing.

_“I don’t love you anymore_

_A pretty line that I adore_

_Five words that I’ve heard before,”_

John knows that the relationship he has with his father, Henry, is not one that is exactly conventional; or healthy. He can remember the exact words that made him realise that. He was 18, in the living room and had just confessed his biggest secret to his father:

He is pansexual.

Henry Laurens told him to get out.

_“‘Cause you keep me on a rope_

_And tied a noose around my throat,”_

Contrary to popular belief John is not an idiot, he knows he ought to cut ties with his father, or work out a way to make their relationship more healthy, a way to change his father. However, whenever Henry calls or texts he just has to respond. It makes sense to him though, because everyone needs their dad - even if they do beat you up. Right?

_“You’re gone, then back at my door,”_

John and his boyfriend, Alex, were celebrating Alex’s promotion; John lying on top of the smaller man, both kissing each other passionately. Alex’s hands worked their way under John’s tight dress shirt and began feeling up his defined abs. John sat up a little and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. Soon, he was shirtless and the couple resumed their frantic make-out session until John’s phone started ringing from its place in his abandoned suit jacket.

“Ignore it,” Alex said breathlessly, pulling John back into their world. John let himself melt into the blissful feeling of Alex’s soft hands over his exposed skin and soon ended up below his lover, staring into his beautiful eyes. 

His phone rang again.

Alex removed himself from John’s grip with a huff and walked over to the abandoned jacket within which the phone sat. He pulled it out of the pocket, “It’s your fucking dad,” he declined the call.

“Alex, you did not just fucking decline that,” John groaned and got up from the comfortable mattress, walking over to his boyfriend. He grabbed the phone from Alexander’s hands and, after seeing his upset face, said, “I can call my father and fuck you; don’t worry.”

“Fine.”

John wishes now that he did just ignore it, because it turns out an hour long phone call with Henry Laurens really kills the mood.

That same ringtone now rings out within the small studio space. John is shocked when he realises his brother, Harry, is calling. He picks up, “Hey?” He asks, “You okay?”

“Not exactly,” Harry’s southern drawl is much thicker than John’s and is incredibly pronounced as he speaks, “It’s dad.”

Immediately John asks, “Are you okay? Is everyone else-”

Harry interrupts him, “No, well yes. Everyone’s fine but dad’s in the hospital, Jack. You need to get down here.”

“Down where?”

“South Carolina Private Hospital,” John then realises Harry’s voice is thick with tears, “Can you just get here, Please?”

“Fucking hell Harry, I’m in New York,” John says as he runs from the studio to his apartment. Luckily it’s a short walk filled with anxiety-inducing silence from the other end of the line. Once home, he barely even greets Alex and opens his computer.

Suddenly, the male voice is replaced by one he recognises as his sister Mary’s, “Get your ass here like now, Jack.”

“Marz, I’m literally in my apartment, it would take me like fucking 12 hours to get there,” he reasons.

“You’re the multi-million dollar celebrity don’t you have a fucking private jet.”

“No, instead I have an apartment,” He knows it’s bad when even Mary doesn’t laugh at his joke, “I’ll get there as soon as possible.”

_“‘Cause if you’re gonna leave_

_Better leave, better do it fast”_

As he hurriedly packs his bags, books fights and generally makes his way to South Carolina, barely filling in a clueless Alex about what is going on; John wonders what’s wrong with his father. It’s almost ironic that just a few minutes before he gets on his plane to his hometown, he was singing a sad song about their strained relationship.

It’s that relationship that is making him feel so strange, because of course he’s worried: his dad is in the hospital. But at the same time, he knows that man has abused him and used him and isn’t a good person. So why should he care that he’s hurt?

_“Can’t live a little longer_

_Sitting on your lap,”_

John can’t help but think, as he takes off, about all the times Henry put him in the hospital. Even at its worst there was never this same sense of urgency but John can’t work out if that’s because he’s not as important or if Henry really is clinging to life like that anxious portion of his brain is telling him he is. 

_“‘Cause you know what you’re doing_

_When you’re coming back,”_

Instead of thinking of his father lying motionless in some hospital bed, he continues his previous thoughts of that interrupting call.

He had called Henry back, all while sitting back onto the bed and ushering Alex towards him, “Hi, I know, Sorry. I was busy.” His tone was clipped and formal, Alex noted as he snuggled into John’s bare chest. 

From what Alex could tell, the conversation was not one John wanted to have and he could hear his heartbeat increasing and their discussion continued.

_“And I don’t wanna have_

_Another heart attack,”_

After the phone call ended, tears were pricking John’s eyes. Alex could hear John’s laboured breathing and got up from the bed, calmly and quietly reciting his own love letter, “Cold in my professions, warm in my friendships,” almost immediately he could see a change in John, although tears were still falling from his eyes, “I wish, my Dear Laurens, it might be in my power, by action rather than words, to convince you that I love you,” he continued, “You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections,” he recited the entire passage to be sure that John would properly be able to hear him as he continued.

“John, baby? Can you tell me five things you can see?”

John answered through tears and Alex’s grudge against his father just grew. This always happened, every time his father called, and yet John always picked up the phone. 

_“Oh I can’t be_

_Your [brother] on a leash,”_

John arrives at the hospital as soon as he can in some random rental he managed to pick up at the airport. As soon as he manages to locate his father’s room he’s greeted by his sister, Martha. “What fucking took you so long?”

“I was in New York, I had to fly here. What the fuck is happening?” John asks in a hushed whisper.

“I’m not sure but I think dad had a bad fall, he just woke up.”

The pair walk over to the hospital bed in the middle of the small, bright, private hospital room. Mary looks up from her father and wraps her arms around her older brother. Mary, being such an amazing person, doesn’t have the same strained relationship with her brother and now, standing over their father’s hospital bed he’s very glad about it. 

_“Every other week_

_When you please,”_

When John was three his mother died, 6 months later Henry Laurens married his pretty, young secretary: Eleanor. Almost immediately they had child after child, naming them Henry Jr (or Harry), Martha, Mary and James. 

Looking at Harry, holding his newly pregnant wife, Elizabeth, tightly around the waist, he can’t even begin to see any kind of resemblance. Harry’s skin is only lightly tanned from the South Carolina sun but John’s skin is enriched with the darkness from his mother’s Puerto Rican descent. Harry is married to a woman, at age 20; when John was 20 he was getting drunk and high on tour with a different man each night. Sure, at 23 he’s a lot more stable: he doesn’t do drugs anymore and he has a long-term boyfriend. But he also never wants kids.

In Martha, he can see more of a resemblance: they both have an unrealistic amount of freckles and stern resting faces.

Glancing back at Martha’s twin Mary he understands why people doubt their relationship. Mary looks the most like Eleanor out of all the siblings, meaning she looks the least like John. Shockingly, this difference in looks is counteracted by the similarity in personality; neither really ever think things through and both loving the arts. 

Looking at James, John feels very out of place: James is the kind of teenage rebellion his father accepted. James is the kind of 18 year old who can go out and get drunk on a Sunday night and still get an A in his test on Monday. James is the kind of teenager who can make a dumb mistake without being hit. James is the kind of kid who should be sitting around Henry’s hospital bed, not John. John shouldn’t be ‘comforting’ the man who so clearly despises him, the man he was woefully singing about a couple of hours earlier.

_“Oh I can’t be_

_The [kid] that you don’t need_

_The lie between your teeth_

_The cut that always bleeds,”_

John’s thoughts are cut off by his father’s hoarse voice as he sits down on one of the chairs surrounding his sick bed, “Jack, what are you doing here?”

“Dad!” Martha’s authoritative voice cuts through the silence.

“Harry called me, dad,” John replies and feels worthless. His father clearly doesn’t want him, doesn’t need him.

“Why don’t you sing me something on the piano, Jack?” His father asks, nodding towards a keyboard in the corner of the room.

“That’s not a,” John goes to say, then catches Martha’s tear-filled eye and finishes his sentence short, “Okay.”

As he sits at the piano stool he feels all his siblings eyes on him, he turns on the keyboard. As he switches it on he asks, “What do you want me to sing dad?”

“Sing something I’ve never heard before.”

_“Say you love somebody new_

_And beat my heart to black and blue,”_

John sings, tuning out the stares of the other people in the room. Trying to just focus on the way his hands are moving along the plastic keys and the way his voice is fluctuating between the different notes.

_“Then they leave and it’s me_

_You come back to”_

He thinks about the lyrics of the song rather than the reactions of all the people standing behind him. He thinks about how proud Henry was when Mary joined the army until she got injured and he realised his daughter joined the army. And somehow it was John’s fault. He can still feel the stitches in his jaw from that one…

_“To say you loved me all along_

_And kiss the bruises ‘til they’re gone_

_Bittersweet, ‘cause I can’t breathe_

_Inside your arms,”_

Or anybody’s arms, John thinks irritably. Once him and Alex were snuggled up on the sofa and Alex reached over to grab the remote; John jumped from his grip and ran across to the other side of the sofa.

“John what’s wrong?” Alex asked, concern flooded his voice.

“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” John replied, flustered. Pushing himself back into Alex’s arms.

Alex gently pushed him away, “Hey, it’s okay to not want physical touch.”

“Alex,” John warns, “I am not your patient, don’t therapize me, that's Angelica’s job.”

“I know you’re not my patient,” Alex said as he ran a finger through John’s curls, “You’re my boyfriend and I just care about you, okay.”

_“‘Cause if you’re gonna leave_

_Better leave, better do it fast_

_Can’t live another minute_

_Bleeding from my back,”_

If there was one thing Henry Laurens could do, it was leave and he could leave right when John needed him. When John had finally accepted his identity, Henry Laurens smacked him down and told him to leave. When John was in a shitty, toxic, abusive, relationship; Henry Laurens blamed him for his pain. When John was outed, as a queer public figure, Henry Laurens distanced himself and told his son to ‘man up.’

_“‘Cause I don’t have another one_

_For you to stab_

_And I don’t want to have_

_Another heart attack,”_

John can think of so many vulnerable moments in his life that Henry could have been there for him like he is now. He can’t even recall how many times he cried, alone on his bedroom floor all because of that man and factors he didn’t have control over. 

_“‘Cause I can’t be_

_The [kid] that you don’t need_

_The lie between your teeth,”_

John feels, then in that hospital room singing, the same as he has always felt: useless. His dad clearly didn’t want him here, and his dad clearly never wanted him to exist in the first place. He remembers when he was outed and Henry had to save his ass for all his rich, white, racist, homophobic, transphobic friends. He was all, “Jack’s just going through a tough time, you know how it is. He’ll get a wife soon.” It was bullshit and Henry knew it, but he didn’t care. 

_“The cut that always bleeds_

_The cut that always bleeds,”_

John thinks about how Henry is always trying to cover him up, stop his reputation from bleeding out but is never able to. John always releases another single, music video, interview, declines his father’s call, gets a boyfriend. Henry can’t silence his son from being who he is, no matter how hard he tries.

Except that John always goes back to him, and he always gets hurt.

_“But even though you’re killing me_

_I, I need you like the air I breathe_

_I need, I need you more than me_

_I need you more than anything,”_

Everyone needs a dad, right? Or at least everyone needs a parent? He thinks about his dad, the last of his parents, lying on that hospital bed. He knows if what he thinks might happen is going to happen, everyone here right now is going to be in pain but John thinks he’ll have it worse:

He’ll have the confusion of grieving for a man he hated. He won’t have any parents, Harry and Mary and Martha and James will all have Eleanor, and they’ll all know she’s their mother but he’ll be by himself.

_“Please, Please,”_

John’s voice is now filled with tears thinking about his father dying, thinking about what this song is making him feel. He was supposed to just hear it on the radio and then call John up, saying sorry for all the pain.

He wasn’t supposed to hear it in the same room as John.

He wasn’t supposed to hear it on his deathbed.

_“‘Cause I could be_

_Your [brother] on a leash_

_Every other week_

_When you please,”_

John is completely in his own world now, singing as if he was still in the studio, as if this nightmare hadn’t begun.

_“Oh I could be_

_Anything you need_

_As long as you don’t leave,”_

John is begging now, begging that this isn’t the last his dad hears of him.

_“The cut that always…”_

A monotonous, high pitched squeal gave out across the room. John can hear as nurses and doctors rush into the room, can hear his siblings and their mother, crying and the shuffling of their feet, he can hear it as his father is removed from the room, the remainder of his kids following, yet stays planted on the piano stool. The tears fall freely from his eyes although he feels no definable emotions.

After what could have been minutes or hours a woman comes into the room, given John is still sat stock still on the piano stool he can’t tell who it is until she speaks.

She silently sits on the piano stool, “That song was beautiful.”

It’s Eleanor, her normally beautiful face, splotchy and tear stained, yet still elegant.

John loses it and covers his face in her sleeve as she caresses him and he wails. Eventually he says, “Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Your husband just died and I’m sat here crying ‘cause he was mean to me,” John says.

“Your father was not a good man to you, John, you’re allowed to be upset.” Her voice is filled with reason and John finds it difficult to argue.

“Your husband just died.”

“Your father just died.” She retaliates.

After a few silent moments of reflection John says, “I’m sorry,” he sighs and she laughs.

“What, are you about to tell me ‘Heather’ is just another father problem filled song about me?”

Their quiet laughter fills the room then it goes quiet before John speaks, “No, I’m sorry for how I was when I was younger. I treated you like you were some evil-stepmother you never were.”

She just hugs him closer.

“And for the record ‘Heather’ is about my boyfriend’s ex so don’t get all big headed. I have more than just daddy issues” They begin to laugh as Harry walks into the room.

He looks a mess.

“Y'all are laughing; all ready, he’s only just died for Pete’s sake.”

“Harry,” Eleanor begins.

“Not now, mom. ‘Cause Jack, you really thought you should sing that. Sing some song about how dad never loved you while he dies?” He pauses and holds back a sob, “You thought that would comfort him?”

“He asked me to fucking sing so I sang, Harry what else do you want from me?” He rises form the piano stool to level with his brother, “ I got on the quickest flight I could from fucking New York, I stopped in the middle of a fucking recording session to get back here and he asks me to sing so I sang. Sorry if it wasn’t good enough for you.”

“Boys,” Eleanor's voice cuts through their argument, “Your father was not an easy man and I know that. Everyone’s just on edge, so let’s go home.”

Both boys just resign to following her out, neither acknowledging the tears slowly falling down their faces.

Once all the paperwork is filled out John hangs back with Mary for a little bit, while the others cram into their car. Mary wanted to grab something from the vending machine and John offered to stay and he could drive back to their house in his rental.

As soon as they open the door of the hospital John feels overwhelmed. Cameras seem to click every second and he tries to protect him and his sister from view. They rush to the hire car and immediately rush to leave the car park, “The price of being famous, eh?” Mary says, trying and failing to lighten the mood.

John just offers a weak smile as he tries to lose the paparazzi trailing him. 

Eventually they make it back to the family home, without any paps following them, and Mary opens the door with her key. Elizabeth greets them from the sofa where she has a comforting arm around her red-faced husband, “Hey, we’re just discussing his life, you know, all the good he did for the world.”

“Yeah, like when he made it legal for people deny queer people healthcare, so much good!” John grumbles, unable to let his family ignore all the harmful shit his father took part in.

“What was that, Jack?” James asks innocently, wiping away a stray tear on his cheek.

“I said ‘Yeah, like when he made it legal for people deny queer people healthcare’” John says, a little louder this time.

“C’mon Jack, he didn’t do that, he was just protecting- ,” Harry begins.

“He wasn’t protecting shit Harry, if it was me lying in that hospital bed; some jackass doctor could decide that I die ‘cause I like guys,” John inhales deeply, “ and that’s because of dad.”

“Jack, nobody’s saying dad was perfect. We’re just trying to remember the good things.”

“Yeah, I remember once, when he was teaching me how to play baseball.” Harry takes a deep breath, then continues, “He kept telling me to keep trying and I think that’s what we need to do right now, keep trying.” He says, pointedly looking at John, who feels like he’s about to crumble at any minute. 

There are a few quiet hums of agreement as John gets up from where he’s sat on the sofa and pulls out his phone, making his way to his old room. Once inside, he dials Alex’s number and waits impatiently for him to pick up, “Baby?” Alex asks as soon as the line connects, “Is everything alright, what’s happening?”

“He’s dead. Fuck ‘Lex he’s dead and everyone hates me.” John cries out. Soon, John’s ear is filled with Alex’s soothing shushes.

“Nobody hates you John, everyone deals with emotions especially grief very differently.”

John immediately feels better, but can’t wait to be properly wrapped up in Alex’s arms, preferably wrapped in soft blankets too, “God, why did I date a fucking therapist.” He asks jokingly through tears.

“Because you love me.” Alex teases.

Their conversation continues until there is a knock on the door on John’s side, “Sorry babe, gotta go.” he says before inviting the person in.

To his surprise it’s Harry.

He walks over to where John is sitting against the wall and joins him, “So uh- was um, was that your boyfriend or whatever?”

John looks down, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, and John looks up in shock, “I was being an asshole, I know you and dad, had a difficult relationship.”

John almost laughs, difficult seems a bit like an understatement, “I’m uh- I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have yelled.”

They sit in silence until Harry speaks, “He listened to all your music you know and whenever it came one he’d say ‘that’s my son’.” Harry imitates Henry’s low voice, “He was, you know, proud of you.”

“Thanks.” Harry doesn’t even realise how much that means to John.

\---

That evening, as they lie on the sofas, eating pizza and watching trashy TV, tensions are much lower and people are managing to get on amicably. However for John, seeing his brother and his wife curled up together; Martha with her boyfriend on the other couch, he longs for Alex’s warm embrace and wishes he’d had the sense to bring him out here.

“You okay, John,” Mary asks, “You seem out of it.”

John hums in response, “Yeah, guess just wish Alex was here.”

“Wait, who’s Alex I thought you were gay?” James asks, erupting laughs from the other people gathered in the room.

“Firstly I’m pan. Secondly, Alexander is my boyfriend, dumbass,” John says lightly, “D’you think I’d really decide to be the queer disappointment who got beat up all the time, if I had get a girlfriend?”

“John,” Martha warily responds, “What do you mean beat up?

“Ya know,” John says, suddenly aware of the several beers he’s had, “1-2 You’re the biggest disappointment to me, 1-2 you’ll never be loved.” John mimics the action of punching into the air as he speaks, “The classic homophobic dad and gay son.” John knows from the looks on their faces to stop talking and impulsively takes a swig of his beer, “Why do y’all think I have my therapist on speed dial?”

“I am so sorry.” Elizabeth says and John’s cheeks heat up.

“It’s fine, he’s dead now. I can cope. Like I said, therapist on speed dial.”

They all sit back in silence as the action plays out on the TV, although they all seem to be casting worried looks John’s way, as he continues to quickly work his way through his bottle of beer.

That night as he goes to bed, John calls Alex knowing he’ll still be up, “Hey ‘Lex.” He says, stifling a yawn.

“Hey love, you feeling better?”

“Yeah, just tired.”

“Well, get to sleep.”

“Wanted to hear your voice.” John mumbles.

“Yeah, okay, you can stop the flattery, now sleep. You’ve been through- ,” 

John cuts him off, “Alex I dropped out of college, I don’t need a medical explanation of why I’m tired.”

“Okay fine, but I mean it: go to sleep!”

“You too,” John says turning under the covers, “‘Love you ‘Lex.”

“I love you too, Jacky.”

\---

The next morning Jack wakes up with bags under his eyes, he quickly books a flight back to New York for the midmorning. After which, he gets out of bed and tries to drink away his hangover with coffee, he’s greeted by James. “Morning,” he says grouchily.

“Jack,” James asks, causing Jack to look up from his black coffee, “Was what you were saying last night true? Did dad, like actually hit you and stuff? Just ya know, you’d had quite a few beers.” John notes his eyes are puffy, as if he were crying all night.

John feels so bad, he seems like he genuinely has fear in his eyes, John sighs, “Oh. Yeah.” He looks to see James opening and closing his mouth in shock and worry, “Hey, you don’t need to worry about that. It’s happened now and I can deal with it.”

“Okay,” his younger brother sighs.

When he leaves for the airport a lot of them beg him to stay but he knows he couldn’t survive another day in South Carolina without Alex by his side. When he eventually manages to get onto the plane, he’s just glad he’s going home.

A couple of hours later and he’s walking into the sweet smell of home as well as Alex’s arms. In that moment, Alex guides them onto the sofa and cradles John’s head. Pulling warm blankets over the couple. 

John just lets it all out:

He lets the cut that was his father bleed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked that! Comments and kudos appreciated!! xx


End file.
